Elizabyth Hiscox

The Rivers’ Mouth

once:
We’ve always known. Death
unhinges the jaw.
Ptah, in his feathered costume
of a cast out delta religion,
awash in a protestant nation’s
exhibition hall. “Implements
to mouth”
a placard sedately
relates a calling out of spells to restore
There was a limbering of the lips
with old world libations, “ritual, known
as The Opening of the Mouth.”

twice:
Sixteen and lost in Nebraska
in the ripening confusion here dear
meet some of your kin, your
age.
A family reunion
with cousins training
for death. The family biz
out Midwest, of dressing up the dead.
Morticians, the Latin rose
to the surface in that word.
A career fair a week before
beautician, mathematician, no
mention of this
“the body’s mouth was then
touched.”
The spells these young
men with my blood must know:
how to match the lips of the gone
with the memories
looking in: Desert Rose, yes, her
favorite.
open casket; closed
sarcophagus. Either way.
thrice:
A boat beneath.
A pair of wings.
“Spells to restore the senses were recited”
Farmland and lace collars, bird
gods and gilt mummiform
statues. Requests across ages
for a final inspiration. Desire
held to the lips of those
who have no need.
Statistician…


Elizabyth Hiscox